


Of Course, Your Majesty!

by herowest



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Bad and Sapnap play cupid, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers sort of I guess?, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, The king is mean, Thief!Dream, for fun, george is a prince
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:20:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27666692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herowest/pseuds/herowest
Summary: Prince George of the ruling Kingdom of Isles had a few select roles that came with being royalty.Be a good role model, prepare to become king, and bring honor to his family's name. For the first nineteen years of his life, everything was going according to plan.However, the introduction of a tall blond with a pretty voice and a talent in thievery into his life suddenly makes George think that ruling a kingdom would be child's play compared to what he has to go through now.But damnit, why couldn't he stop thinking about him?[ SLOW UPDATES DUE TO SCHOOL :) ]
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 36





	1. Thieves, Fools, and Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!  
> This is my first DNF work! Hope you enjoy it.
> 
> If Dream or George say that they are no longer comfortable with shipping, this story will immediately be taken down! 
> 
> Happy reading :)

There were few things that George had to complain about when being the prince.

Sure, the clothes he had to wear to his father's meetings and public appearances were the most uncomfortable beings in existence, and he hated how everyone talked to him like they were tiptoeing on eggshells, but his life was definitely an envied one. George was well aware that everyone didn't have roasted venison with an assortment of vegetables every night for dinner, nor did they get to spend days reading in a library or walking through acres of lush gardens.

It was true that, in many ways, George was living a dream.

However, if there was one thing George couldn't get any of, it was quiet. From the moment he awoke to the patient knocking of one of his manservants to the constant gossiping of Nobel women in the courtyard as they discussed the newest developments in the royal family, George struggled to keep his head on right with continuous noise. 

He had a handful of friends, specifically two knights in training: Nick and Bad. The three of them had grown up together within the castle walls, both Bad and Nick's parents being wealthy nobles in good favors with George's father, the king. But even Nick and Bad's presence could be too much sometimes, and George found his social tolerance level becoming lower and lower with each passing day.

If there was one person who knew how to help him, it was George's mom. The Queen of the Isles was famous for her beauty. Not only her stunning looks and grace but also her kind and goodhearted nature. She was an amazing woman, which was clear to everyone she met. George had always been closer to his mother than his father. They were inseparable while George grew up. It was a common sight to see the queen and young prince walking the town's streets together, accompanied by a knight, of course. The mother and son did everything together.

Until five years ago, when she passed away from fever. The death hit the people of the kingdom hard, but the royal family harder. George, only fourteen at the time, had never felt more lost. He was still growing up, and now he wouldn't even have his mother to assist him.

Sure, there was his father, but it wasn't the same. While they had never been close, the attempts for a good relationship between father and son died the day the queen did. It was never the same. 

It was because of his mother's death that George began thinking about their time together more. When he would get overwhelmed, the queen had a small spot in the woods that they would travel to in order to calm down. Even after her passing, George continued to go back. 

So, as he sat in one of the chairs on a long table in the castle's great hall, his mind was as far from the current topic as it could be. George barely acknowledged the tedious discussion of a new deal between his kingdom and another smaller one to the north of them. He would simply nod his head along once in a while like he always did, and everything seemed to work out. 

" _George._ "

George was brought out of his head with a hiss of his name from his father. 

Eyes widened, George realized, with horror, that the around two dozen men sitting at the table were all staring at him. And with even greater horror, he figured that he was supposed to be answering something. 

"Oh." he cleared his throat, sitting up in his chair. "Yes! Yes, sounds very good. I agree." George tensely smiled, hoping that was the correct answer. 

He held his breath as a moments silence seemed to last forever. 

His response turned out to be the proper one as he saw King Charles, the leader of the kingdom to the north, smile and nod his head.

"Oustanding! I'm glad that your prince is so eagar to agree!" King Charles rose from the wooden chair and shook George's father's hand. "Always a pleasure, Henry. I look forward to speaking to you about this more in the future." 

George's shoulders dropped in relief as he let out a breath. The men around him began rising from their chairs, engaging in light conversation as the meeting was deemed over.

The prince wagered a glance at his father and froze at the dirty look he gave him while King Charles was not paying attention. They held eye contact for a moment, and George knew that he was definitely in trouble.

George broke the eye contact by quickly pulling out his chair and threw himself up, making his way hurriedly to the big wooden doors at the front of the room. He had to apologize once or twice for running into one of the many people in the room but kept going without throwing them a second glance. 

He made it into the hallway and broke into a swift jog, weaving in and out of passing servants who all gave him quizzical looks. George knew that word of the prince running through the castle like he was being chased would spread between the help like lightning, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He just needed to get out of that castle and away from his father.

His feet brought him through a doorway and another and another until he was outside. George passed the garden, the training fields, and the dueling ground before he stopped in the forest.

George bent over, catching his breath for a moment before picking himself up. He found himself walking deeper and deeper into the woods. His feet seemed to move on their own, walking one in front of the other as they carried him down the path that he and his mother took so often. They led him to a shaded spot of moss-covered land.

The spot was nothing special. A large oak tree planted itself next to the water of a rushing stream, roots digging deep into the earth. Moss laid everywhere, providing a soft cushion when sitting down. George observed the area carefully before squatting himself in front of the small river.

He took several breaths and couldn't help but groan. George ran a hand across his face in exasperation. He knew that his retreat before facing his father would have consequences, maybe even ones more severe than if he had just stayed. At the time the running away seemed like a good idea. 

George even let out a small huff of a laugh, thinking of what Nick and Bad would say. Bad would scold him, no doubt, but Nick would probably congratulate him for not being a wuss and standing up to "Henry the Horrible" as they deemed him in private. 

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face, and he found himself spacing out while sitting there, letting the rustling of leaves and crunching of men's boots become background noise. 

George's eyebrows furrowed. _Crunching of men's boots?_

The silent question was answered by the feeling of a cold blade pressing into the front of his neck gently. George's breath stuttered and stopped for a moment as his body went rigid. In his rush to get out of the castle, he hadn't even thought to bring his sword with him. Not that he was skilled with a blade anyway. It was at a time like this that he regretted not taking his father's offer of dueling lessons when he was younger. 

Closing his eyes for a moment at his stupidity, George clenched his fists at his sides before forcing himself to attempt to face his attacker. Being wary of the blade at his throat, George slowly turned his head to the left, his chin being guided up by the wielder of the sword. 

Whatever appearance he was expecting to see from his attacker was not what he was presented. 

Instead, George had to tilt his head up further than normal to see the top of the man's lean figure. He was very tall and dressed like the people George would see in town when he went with his mother. Brown leather boots, sturdy traveling pants with several pockets, and a loose, black collared shirt. The man's forest green cape was long and went down to his calves. He had the hood of it over his head, but George could still see wisps of blond curls peeking out.

By far, the most unusual aspect of the stranger's outfit was the bizarre mask that was over his face. It was white, made out of a material George couldn't identify. There were two holes where a person's eyes should be and an eery, crooked smile seemingly carved onto the pale material. George could barely make out a pair of calculating, green eyes peeking through the holes of the strange smiley mask. 

There was a beat of silence between the both of them; the prince glancing uncomfortably between the sword at his neck and the man in front of him, who seemed to be studying him. Finally, the stranger spoke.

"Good afternoon, your majesty." 

His voice was low and smooth, and it sent a weird queasiness like butterflies into George's stomach that made him shift uncomfortably. A strange inflection in it made George conclude that he was smiling behind that weird face covering. George's chin tilted higher with the words almost out of proper habit. Silence settled between the two again, and George realized that the person was waiting for him to answer. 

Not entirely trusting his voice, he instead let out an unsure, "Hello." The tall man let out a giggle at the prince's apparent nervousness, and George glared at him in response, wishing he could will his fear away. Hoping to look brave and maintain a shred of princely dignity, he continued, "Who are you?"

The man laughed heartily, the weight of it causing the sword to shake in his hand. George's head darted back, away from the moving sword edge, and fell back onto his hands. He hoisted himself up, glad to at least be standing. However, the fact he was upon his legs didn't seem to change the fact that the odds seemed stacked against him. 

Once the man had settled down, he cocked his head to the side, observing the situation in front of him. "Now, what kind of thief would I be if I ran around giving royalty my name?"

Thief. Of course, he was a thief. It was just George's luck, really, that on the one day he chooses not to stop by his room and drop off his bag of allowance before one of his father's meetings is the day he gets robbed.

It was almost embarrassing how stupid George felt at that moment. His hand unconsciously went down to his pocket where the bag of gold coins sat as if to try and guard them. This proved to be a mistake when he watched the man follow his hand down and narrow in on the lump.

Shit.

"Well, well, well." The masked man took a step closer to the prince, and George had to stop himself from recoiling back. He used the sword and pointed it at the obviously disguised money. "Is that some gold in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

This time, George didn't stop to mask his disgust and jumped back at the thief's words. The prince's eyes widened, and George sputtered to come up with a coherent answer.

"Do you know who I am?" was what he chose to use. The words sounded pompous and rude, but George couldn't find it in himself to care.

The man (George was really getting tired of calling the stranger "the man." The term sounded way too formal, and he didn't believe that "man" would be the proper term for a person that looked around his age.) scoffed quietly and readjusted his grip on the sword. George felt that he could finally breathe again when the thief drew the weapon back and used it to casually lean on.

Even though the sword wasn't at his chest, George didn't feel completely safe. Something told him that the thief had a bit more talent with the weapon than he was letting on.

"Yes, your majesty. How could I not? I thought the townspeople claimed you were smart." The backhanded insult made the tips of the prince's ears heat up. Who was this guy, talking to him about being smart? 

"Excuse me?" George huffed.

"I believe you heard me?" The grin in the stranger's voice made George unbelievably annoyed. He couldn't remember a time when a simple conversation had made him so irritated. It made him want to rip that stupid mask off the guy's face and...well, George wasn't all too talented in combat. 

"So, let's make this easy shall we? You hand over that big stack of coins willingly, or," the thief stood straight, towering over the prince and lifted his sword. "I run you through with my sword and _take it_." He locked eyes with George through the mask, and George was astonished by the eased expression of the man. "Your choice, clearly, your majesty." 

George was frozen for a moment under the piercing gaze of the man's eyes. It was like he was trapped in them for a moment; the green color almost comforting. The movement of George's hand was unwarranted when it found its way into his pocket and fiddled with the soft material of the money bag. 

He had two options: either give in to this annoying thief's requests and hand over the (admittedly hefty) amount of money in his possession or try to stand his ground and potentially die. 

George bet his chances and hoped that luck was on his side. 

"I'll give you the money on two conditions."

The thief's stance showed his surprise, and his head tilted to the side as if to say, _I have the sword, and you're trying to barter here?_

George straightened and continued, attempting to fake confidence in his voice. "First of all, you tell me what your name is," the stranger began to cut him off, causing George to raise his voice in a flash of annoyance, "and, you don't come back to this place." 

"And if I don't comply?" The man said, and he sounded amused, again using his sword as leverage as he leaned closer to George.

"Then...I suppose I die, don't I?"

This caused the thief to release a wheezing laugh, one George related to a tea kettle. If he wasn't already done with the guy's behavior, he might have even called it endearing. He settled on calling it irritating, maybe to console his inner defiance more than anything. 

George stood in front of the laughing man, arms crossed, looking defiant. He truly wasn't sure where this spark of confidence had come from, but he supposed that the saying "fake it till you make it" had some truth. 

Once the giggles had left the stranger, he dragged a hand across his masked face with an overexaggerated sigh. The thief stared at George for a few moments in thought. George shuffled again under the heavy gaze, suddenly conscious of every little movement he made.

Finally, the man stepped away and examined George's expression. With an affirming nod, he silently held out an open hand. 

George eyed it for a moment before looking back into the man's green eyes, confused. 

The stranger sighed again. "Fine. I'll comply to your 'rules' or whatever. But the money first." 

George didn't know whether he wanted to jump for joy or sock the man in the face. What he did do was feel relieved. He fished the heavy bag from his pocket and slowly dropped it into the thief's outstretched hand. 

The masked man grabbed the money, causing George to flush when their hands touched briefly, and quickly stuffed it into a brown traveling pack that George hadn't noticed was there. With no further words, the man turned and began walking away. 

George stood there for a moment, mouth open and utterly confused as to what was happening before he took a few stuttering steps after the man.

"Now wait a minute!" George called after him. "You didn't even give me your name!" 

The thief swung himself around and walked backward to stare at the prince. He sighed before shouting back, "It's Dream." 

George didn't have time to process the strange name before another question came tumbling out. "And you won't come back here, right?" 

Though he was getting farther away, George heard the man—Dream, he mentally corrected—let out an amused laugh. Dream pulled himself into a boisterous bow, sweeping his long cloak behind him. 

"Of course, your majesty!" 

___________________

"Are you a fucking idiot George?" 

"Hey—language!" 

"No! I just, I don't know. I didn't know what to do." George defended, throwing his hands up in exasperation. 

He had just finished retelling the story of what happened in the woods with Dream to Nick and Bad, both of whom he grabbed from the training fields on his way back to the castle grounds. Both boys had complained when the prince demanded they'd follow him, but that annoyance was dissipated at the extremely strange look on George's face.

The three of them were currently sitting on one of the benches deep in the central garden where George knew his father wouldn't think to send guards to look. 

Once Dream had left from his sight, George had spent a few moments thinking over what happened minutes prior. After, he had groaned loudly and covered his face with his hands, astonished that he pulled off the deal but lost all of his money. The prince had put his hands into the cold stream and pressed the cool water against his red cheeks, which he blamed on adrenaline.

Then, he had flopped down on the moss-covered ground for several minutes, simply staring at the place where Dream had stood with his sword. 

George was practically furious. Sure, he had piles and piles of money, but his father was very strict about George not spending past a monthly allowance, the same one he had just given to the thief. 

_Dream._ George corrected. 

The name was certainly strange. Who names their child Dream?

George had then realized with some certainty that "Dream" was most likely an alias the thief used, as clearly the man knew that giving his name to royalty could be a death sentence.

Dream, the blonde guy who had a weirdly nice laugh and intriguing green eyes. Dream, who _took all his damn money._

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, George had roughly picked himself up, dusted off the expensive clothes he wore, and immediately ran to grab Bad and Nick to tell them about what had happened.

Which led them to now. 

"The guy had a sword pointed to your chest and you tried to work out a deal with him?! Well thank god he let you go!" Nick, fondly nicknamed "Sapnap," threw his head back in bewildered laughter.

Bad, who was more somber about the situation, lightly dug his elbow into Nick's side. "George could've gotten hurt—or worse! You should not be laughing about this!" 

Nick shook his head, unbelieving, and released something akin to a scoff. He crossed his arms and grinned. "I think it's pretty cool. I mean, George stuck up for himself! Isn't this what we've been trying to get him to do?" 

George released a breath of a laugh at the two boys who responded to the situation as he had expected. 

"Not when he has a sword pointed at his chest!" Bad argued. 

The three boys sat together in silence for a moment, each with different expressions. George minded his time by playing with the cuffs of his clothes. 

"What was the guy's name anyway?" Nick asked. "You said you made the deal that he would leave and tell you his name. What was it?"

"Oh, um." George blushed in embarrassment. "He told me it was Dream."

Both Bad and Nick stared at him with unimpressed expressions. 

George flushed harder, hands going up to explain his point further. "Well did you expect him to give me his real name? What kind of thief gives his actual name to the prince, not to mention the person he was trying to rob! I mean, it just makes sense for him to give an alias! Especially since he was clearly experienced; he was super strong and I was practically defenseless so its really my fault, right?" He rambled on. "He could've chosen not to give a name at all!" 

George didn't know why he was suddenly defending Dream, nor did he understand why his friends' expressions had changed to something peculiar. 

It took several seconds of silence before one of them said anything.

"Yeah, yeah you're right." Bad glanced over to Nick, and they seemed to have a conversation with their eyes that ended up with both of them smirking playfully. George fidgeted, wishing he could understand what they were talking about. 

The two knights simultaneously turned towards the prince with clever smirks, and George knew he was in trouble. 

"So, Georgie," Nick started. "this 'Dream' guy. Was he an old man or..?" 

Georgie's eyebrowed furrowed. He didn't understand what they were getting at. "No, he actually looked around our age. He was dressed like one of the travelers you'd see in town." he thought about Dream for a moment. "Oh! and he wore this weird mask."

"Mask?" Bad questioned. 

"Yeah," George nodded his head thoughtfully. "It was this weird mask with a smile carved into it. It blocked his face, but he was definitely as old as us." 

"Uh-huh, uh-huh." Bad crossed his arms and continued, "And I suppose he was very mean, right? Most thieves are." 

"No, not really?" George paused. "I mean, he threatened my life but he wasn't 'mean' I would say. More like, um, intimidating?"

Bad shook his head up at the answer. 

Nick copied Bad's understanding nod, but the prince had a suspicion that he wasn't entirely paying attention. "Interesting, interesting...." 

George narrowed his eyes at Bad and Nick. No one spoke as he studied the two cleverly smirking knights. 

"What?" Bad questioned the prince, fidgeting slightly at his intense stare and glancing over at Nick. 

"Why are you two looking at me like that?" George said. "Why are you both smiling like that? You only do that when you're up to no good." 

Both of them had the decency to mock being offended, smirks turning into matching grins. 

"Why Prince George!" Nick began, and George couldn't help but roll his eyes at the overemphasized fake manners. "Me, and my dear friend Bad, causing trouble? You are severely mistaken!" 

Bad giggled at his antics. "Honestly, your princelyness, Sapnap and I have never stepped a toe out of line in our lives!" 

George scoffed playfully, his unimpressed bravo being broken by a laugh. "Oh yeah, _totally._ " He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "Seriously though, what are you two on about?" 

Bad sighed loudly, slumping his shoulders and giving in. "Well George," he began and straightened up. "as your best friends, Sapnap and I pledge some responsibility in your life, you know? That includes helping you with your—" 

"Your love life!" Nick interrupted with a loud, powerful laugh. Bad soon joined in, both of their laughs muted in George's head as the prince sat there with his mouth wide open, gobsmacked. 

George's hands fell into his lap as he sat, looking between the two laughing boys in utter shock.

" _What?!_ " He sputtered, nearly choking on his spit. "You cannot be serious right now!"

The prince's reaction only spurred on the knights' laughter as they leaned on each other for support. 

They were trying to set him up with a thief—not to mention a thief that had tried to rob him! George shook his head in disbelief, wondering how in the world they had come to the conclusion that George and this man, Dream, were "meant to be," or interlude that George had any attraction to the guy in the first place! Sure, Dream had a very nice voice, and warm hands, and had pretty blond hair and was clearly attractive, but he was a thief! 

George lifted a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance as his cheeks flushed in a mix of embarrassment and annoyance and maybe a little bit of remembrance. Bad and Nick slowly calmed down from their giggles, and both looked over at the blushing prince, teary-eyed and out of breath from laughing so hard. 

The young knights were both not surprised to see the prince's red cheeks and kept grinning. 

They all looked at each other for a few moments before George spoke. 

"You actually can't be serious." George looked to Bad for backup. "Bad, you said it before! D—this guy was dangerous!"

"You told me that he wasn't mean, George." Bad replied, amused. "Nick was right: you also aren't hurt."

"But!" George stuttered, trying to come up with more reasons to deter them from this conclusion. "He's a thief!" 

Nick laughed, reaching out to ruffle George's hair. "Oh come on, George! You'll be like _Romeo and Juliet_ together!" He fake fainted into Bad's side, causing the knights to giggle again. 

George sighed, fixing his hair, and looked up at the sky to notice it was getting late in the day. He shook his head, standing up with a groan. "You guys are losing your minds, honestly. I'm not even going to ever see the guy again." He wasn't sure why that thought made his heart sink slightly, but George didn't pay it mind. "I should probably head back, you losers." 

Nick grinned up at the prince, waving a hand in goodbye. "Tell Henry the Horrible not to lecture you too badly." George winced at that, remembering that he would have to face his father sooner or later.

"I would rather run away," he joked and dusted off the dirt from his silken pants. 

"Yeah, and if you see him, give _Dream_ our best!" Bad teased, causing George to scoff and begin walking towards the path that would take him out of the garden. 

George shook his head as the sound of Bad and Nick's cackling laughter got quieter. 

As if he would ever run into Dream again. 

_As if._ George huffed. 


	2. Arguments, Adventures, and Alleys

A heavy grunt left the crown prince's lips as he pushed his weight against the sturdy wooden door that separated the cool evening air from what he knew would be the warm, almost homely castle.

The sun had set on his walk back from the gardens, and dusk brought colder temperatures, a harsh contrast to the sunny warmth the afternoon had possessed. Emotionally and physically tired from the day's events, George just wanted to crawl right into his giant bed and sleep away his problems.

George gave one final heave and smiled gratefully as the door clicked and groaned open.

He inhaled the sweet smell of baking bread and cooked meat from the kitchen doors to his right as he ventured into the castle, closing the great door behind him. His arms fidgeted nervously at his sides as he traveled closer and closer to his destination. While George wanted nothing more than to run to his bedroom, his first stop was the great hall, where he knew his father would be waiting for him. 

He figured that getting the difficult conversation over with would be better to do now than ruin his day tomorrow. 

George passed a few more of the same corridors, ignoring the panicked looks the help gave him, and stopped in front of another big door, this time the one to the dining hall. He hesitantly pressed his ear up against it. 

Not a sound. 

_Maybe he went to bed?_ George thought hopefully before he placed his flat palms against the wood and pushed, the door groaning the more he moved it. 

As the prince stepped inside the room to examine its contents, he stopped dead in his tracks, blood running cold. 

The King had not gone to bed. 

Instead, he was sat at the head of the table in the same royal attire George had left him in. At the sound of the opening door, King Henry looked up to see who had arrived and was quick to glare at his found son, looking absolutely furious at his arrival. 

George instantly regretted not going straight to bed. 

The father and son stared at each other for some moments, the King's glaring expression not giving any hint to his true feelings and the prince seemingly trapped in the doorway of the room, unwanting to travel further. 

"Take a seat," the King spoke stoically and motioned to the chair at the other head of the long table. George scrambled to it, the door slamming back into the frame behind him, causing the already anxious boy to jump at the noise.

The King stood like a stone as George pulled the seat into the table, the prince's hands nervously grabbing the cuffs of his tunic. George heard another door open and watched as the servants previously attending to his father dashed out of the room, throwing him concerned looks. 

Now they were all alone.

"Where have you been?" the King spoke, his words like steel. Every word he said seemed to get louder and more aggressive. "Not only did you embarrass me during this afternoon's meeting with King Charles, but I also have reports of you running around the castle like some sort of headless chicken."

George flinched at his harsh tone and looked down at his lap in shame. 

"Do you have any idea how this looks against me? What your actions have caused?" Henry sneered. "The help do not keep their mouths shut, George! Questions from King Charles' men! Nobels discussing how I parent my own damn child!" 

"But, father—"

"No!" King Henry yelled, and the tension in the room seemed to become ten times heavier. "And then, you go on and disappear for hours and I am forced to deal with the consequences by myself. This is unacceptable behavior from the next King of the Isles." 

George cringed. He should've gotten used to this already. 

"Talks" with his father weren't new. Especially growing up with Bad and Sapnap, George had made a habit of getting into trouble in his younger years. However, back then, he had his mother to help him. These recent years not only brought the responsibilities of becoming the next King but also having to deal with the King by himself. 

"Here is what will happen." 

These were the words that never preceded anything good. George resisted the urge to groan and unwillingly looked back up at his father. Dread crept up his shoulders and wrapped around him like a vice. 

"You are going to write a letter, formally apologizing to King Charles and his colleges for your behavior at the meeting today." The King began, "And if I catch word that you have acted strangely, or are causing any sort of ruckus, or are making a fool out of this kingdom," fire burned in the pits of his eyes, and George was taken back by the blaze, "I'll deal with you myself."

George nodded solemnly in understanding. His legs jittered under the expensive oak, anxious to stand up and getaway. 

Like his mind was read, the King stood up across the table. The mighty chair screeched against the floor at the movement, and George copied his father's actions. George's legs felt like jelly under him, but he convinced them to fall still as he stared down the King. 

"Off to bed. Now." 

The prince didn't need to be told twice. 

______________

The royal family's library was one of legend. 

Containing over thirty thousand different pieces of literature, splayed over a gigantic mass of room, with several nooks for private seating, and most importantly, silence, the entire place screamed for those wishing to get absorbed in a good book to come inside and get lost for hours at a time. 

George fell victim to that call time and time again. 

The verbal bruises he had received from his father's lecture two days before had worn off the yesterday, which George spent in his room procrastinating writing a letter to King Charles. However, today was a new day and George seemed to have a pep in his step. He was determined not to dwell on the fight and look forward to the sunny day that awaited him. 

He also attempted not to remember the events that had taken place in the forest. 

So, after his morning etiquette classes with a tutor were over, George gladly sat at his favorite seat in the vast library. It was mostly hidden by a large bookshelf and far from the entrance, making it the perfect place for an early afternoon's reading. 

The book of choice was one that George found during his last visit. _Of Seamstresses and Stones_ was the title. It followed the story of a maiden that left her small village on a legendary quest to destroy a greater evil. 

Its concept was a popular one, and George was sure that the library contained a hundred like it. However, he curiously found that the character the book focused on seemed to remind him quite a lot of himself, and thus, he thought that he would give it a try. 

The atmosphere of the library was calming while he began to take in the words and start the story. George never took himself as a lover of adventure stories, but this one seemed to suck him right in. 

_Mercia had then decided that she had never seen a jewel so gorgeous yet so sorrowful. A thing of beauty that captured her soul and connected her to things unknown._

_She stared, transfixed, at the bright greens and golds that spun themselves in a never-ending cascade of jade: the moss that grew in deep caverns, unexplored, the sun's glowing and yellow liquid metal._

_It was the color of jealousy and greed and riches of the wealthy, gained and stolen just as quickly._

_And it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen._

_She tore her gaze from the stone and locked eyes with the wizard, who already had a knowing look on his face._

_"Fine. I'll join you." Her open hand reached out, grasping—_

"Georgie!" 

George's body was thrown forward by a firm pat on his back, body being splayed over the table. He jumped, spinning around in defense and surprise, only to be met with the grinning faces of Nick and Bad. 

Nick had already begun laughing at the prince's defensive stance, and Bad seemed to be holding back his urge to do the same. They had their outerwear on, cloaks adorned and swords strapped to their sides. 

George took a moment to calm himself down from their surprise, snapping his book shut unwillingly. 

"What are you guys doing here?" He asked, annoyed. 

"Captain let us have a day off for the nice weather," Bad claimed, and Nick nodded giddily. George's eyebrows rose: the military's captain was infamous for being strict. "Nick and I are going to go into town and were wondering if you wanted to come."

"Considering we're practically knights already, we figured that Henry the Horrible wouldn't mind you coming down with us," Nick added. 

George looked between his book and his friends. He had planned to spend the majority of his day reading and then take his dinner to his room to hide from his father. Nick and Bad stared back at him with pleading eyes, and George knew that he had to give in. 

"Fine," George sighed heavily and tucked _Of Seamstresses and Stones_ under his seat to ensure that none of the help would put it back on a shelf in his absence. "Let's go."

"Alright!" Nick cheered, only to be shushed by Bad.

"We're still in the library!" 

"Yeah, yeah." 

George noted that the journey down into town was quicker than he remembered. They had notified Lord Vector, the King's right-hand man, of their departure before starting to walk down. The traveling horses were saved for the King's professional guard, who were currently doing rounds in the castle because of rumors of some dangerous criminal being spotted. 

Nick, Bad, and George spent the time talking about how their training was going, complaining about the captain's behavior, George's talk with his father, and the certain shops that they were planning to visit. It turned the fifteen-minute walk into nothing, and George had the time to appreciate his closest friends. 

"Make sure you stick close," Bad said as they began walking in the thick of town. It was reasonably crowded today; the afternoon always the busiest time to shop. Not to mention the several passersby that realized the prince was near. 

George had passed a few too many awkward waves, and they had only just arrived. 

The first stop was the bakery, where George received a free dough pastry, complementary of the baker, which he ended up handing to Bad. Next was the stationery shop, where Bad had dragged him and Nick in order to get more parchment for Bad to write to his friend, Skeppy, who lived in the neighboring kingdom. Nick then took them to a flower shop, where he spent the entire time flirting with the girl behind the counter while he and Bad stood awkwardly behind him. 

Once they had successfully dragged Nick away from the flower girl, George begged, "Can we please go to the bookstore now?"

"You literally have a library that's ten times the size of the bookstore," Nick stared blankly at the prince.

Bad lightly hit Nick's arm, "We can go anyways. I'll look around too. Come on, we sat through you toying with that girl for ten minutes, we can go to a bookstore." 

George grinned cheekily at Bad's support. Nick groaned with a nod, and they set off down the cobbled path. The bookstore was on the other, more popular side of town. As they traveled, the crowd seemed to get thicker and harder to get through. 

As a particularly large wave of people passed, George realized he was being swept away with them. Claustrophobia and panic set in. George furiously twisted his head around to look for Nick's bandana and Bad's cloaked head, only to see nothing. 

"Bad?" He tried but only seemed to receive confused glares and off-putting glances from the people around him. George groaned, reaching a hand up to drag through his hair. "Nick? Where the hell—"

A hand suddenly grabbed his wrist and tugged him roughly into a side alley as another wave of people trod where he was previously. George yelped as he was pressed against the concrete of a building, quieting as he was shushed loudly. 

His head spun as it hit harshly against the wall, and George paused for a moment as his vision blurred. However, what he saw when it cleared was not what he expected. 

George's eyes widened more and more as he observed the all too familiar white material of a mask and forest green cloak in front of him. The blond curls and recognizable sword strapped to his side, the same sword that was at George's throat just two days ago.

_Dream._

The thief was currently distracted, his gaze trained on the alleyway entrance while George uncomfortably shifted against the wall. 

George's hands balled up into fists at his sides, and he hissed out a surprised, " _You!_ "

Dream only spared him a glance. He quietly muttered back, "Me." 

George's mind ran at a thousand miles a minute, unsure if he should be keeping still or yell out and hope that Bad and Nick were close enough to hear him. Finding that he was trapped quite securely against the wall, a lump closed up his throat as he tried his best to call out. 

"HELP!" George almost managed to continue before a hand was slapped over his mouth. 

"Shh!" Dream whispered furiously. George gulped as the creepy smile on the mask turned to stare him down. "You idiot, be quiet!" 

Contrary to his orders, George couldn't sit still and began struggling against the arm that was pinning him still. He heard Dream swear under his breath, and more pressure was applied against his chest. 

_Well, there goes that,_ George thought helplessly. He gave another push in protest. 

"Oh my god, please, stop for a minute." Dream practically pleaded, and George paused his movements at the tone of voice. "Trust me, your majesty, I'm trying to help you here." 

This caused George to really fall still, his previously fierce eyes narrowing in question.

Help him? How could he help him? 

Dream looked towards the opening of the side passage quickly before turning back to the prince. While he was whispering previously, he brought his voice down lower. 

"As much as you enthrall me, your majesty," He joked dryly, "I wasn't following you. I happened to see you with your 'guards' and noticed that you were being trailed." He admitted and gave the prince a minute to process the information before he hesitantly brought the hand down from George's mouth, hovering it just below if he decided to scream again. 

The snarky comment he had planned to say died at Dream's words. George's eyebrows furrowed, "Trailed? Like by a person?" 

Dream nodded, and George froze. 

He hadn't even realized. Did Bad and Nick even know? Had they seen the threat as Dream did? Were they being trailed themselves? Were they in trouble right now? 

George's face turn concerned as Dream watched him and sighed. "Your friends are fine. They may be strange, but they aren't stupid." 

George had an urge to point out that it was, in fact, Dream, who was a thief and wore a weird smiley face mask to hide his identity and went around threatening crown princes and pushing them against walls was indeed the strange one, but he held back. 

The two of them sat in an oddly patient silence, George attempting to slow his beating heart and Dream's gaze trained on the main street, looking for any sign that the person following George knew they had come that way. 

George followed his gaze and tried to scan the busy street for what Dream was looking for, only to get distracted every time a new mob of townsfolk passed by. He gave up embarrassingly quick, instead opting to study his captor from up-close, as annoying as the position was. 

With some sort of satisfaction, George noticed that Dream did in fact have blond hair as he had thought before. It was much easier to see with the thief's side profile being of access to him this time. Even though the same strange smile mask was adorned on his face, George could tell now that Dream had a strong jawline and, amusedly, freckles that peeked out from the sides of his mask. 

George allowed himself to picture what Dream would look like without the mask on for only a moment. 

"Paint a picture, it'll last longer, your majesty," Dream muttered cheekily. 

George's eyes widened in embarrassment, "I _—_ I wasn't _—_ "

He was stopped by a loud " _Shhh"_ from the thief. George rolled his eyes and huffed quietly, embarrassed at being caught. 

Eventually, Dream let out a heavy breath and pulled away from George, allowing the prince to step away from the wall comfortably. 

They couldn't just sit there forever, and the question of what to do next seemed to linger between the both of them. George could almost watch the gears turn in Dream's brain as the thief seemed to calculate what to do next with the prince.

"Alright," Apparently done deciding his course of action, George watched as Dream flipped down the hood of his cloak and carefully took it off. He held it out to George, who stared suspiciously at the action. "Wear this. It should stop whoever's trailing you from recognizing you." 

George narrowed his eyes at the cloak, making no move to take anything. It seemed very odd that Dream, who had put a sword to George's throat, wanted to help him escape the tricky situation. After all, thieves are usually the ones that put you into tricky situations. What was in it for him? 

"I promise, it's not that deep." Dream consoled, and George started to think that maybe the blond also had a talent for reading minds. "Your clothes are way too expensive for you to blend in easily, so unless you want to get hurt, put this on."

Dream huffed at George's unwavering, unsure expression and lack of movement, jostling his hand in a "Come on, take it" motion.

_Oh, what the hell._

George nodded and extended a hand out to take the cloak, fastening it around his shoulders swiftly. 

Dream reached over and drew the hood over George's face, causing the prince's stomach to become queasy for a moment. He adjusted the hood carefully so that the brunet could still see where he was going before stepping back, satisfied. 

The cloak was soft and way too large for him, but George supposed that was good when trying to hide. He pretended not to smell the overwhelming scent of pine needles and firewood smoke that was practically woven into the material. 

He watched as Dream visibly observed his attire before nodding surely.

"Okay, let's go." Dream's head knocked in the direction of the main street as his hand quickly found its way onto George's wrist, giving the prince's hand a sharp, yet surprisingly soft, tug to get him moving. 

"Wait, wait, wait," George dug his heels into the dirt below him in protest. "you're going out there with that thing on your face?" He motioned weakly to the thief's mask with his free hand.

Dream stared blankly at the prince. 

"I mean," George continued as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "If anything you'll draw more attention to us with that thing on your face than my clothes." 

Dream straightened with recognition. Instead of being offended, George was shocked to hear Dream burst into laughter quietly in front of him.

"You'd be surprised at just how easy it is to forget a faceless man, your majesty." 

George's eyes furrowed at the slightly cryptic words. 

"I remembered you, didn't I?" He challenged questionably. George realized how the words sounded too late and flushed immediately.

"Well, consider me flattered," Dream joked, and George could hear the smirk in his voice. 

George shook his head in annoyance and stepped closer to the street, this time pulling the thief behind him instead. "Let's just go."

The amused laugher that Dream released was enough to make him tug the hood of the cloak a little lower to hide his red cheeks, Dream retaking the initiative and towing George next to him to expertly travel with the current of townspeople. George kept his eyes trained on the ground as he waded through an ocean of people that seemed to have gotten greater since he was with Nick and Bad. 

He glanced up occasionally to look at the passersby, noting that, true to Dream's word, none of them were giving the masked man a second look. George supposed that the townspeople had probably seen weirder travelers come into town daily. 

As for Dream, George saw that he was scanning the crowd for signs of the two young knights. George could admit that Dream was at least a head taller than he was, making seeing over hoards of people a lot easier for him. He worried for a moment that the thief wouldn't know who he was looking for, but if Dream could pick out a person trailing them in a crowd, he had no doubt he could do the same for Bad and Nick, who would no doubt stand out.

Their direction suddenly changed, forcing George to grip onto the back of Dream's shirt in order not to get caught behind a few people. 

_Only slightly demoralizing,_ he thought light-heartedly.

A small nudge on his shoulder caused George to look up at Dream, who pointed over at two boys about five feet away, frantically talking to the owner of a vegetable stand. A smile grew on George's face in relief as he observed Nick's bandana and Bad's black cape. Both of them were safe. 

Forgetting that Dream still had a hold on his wrist, George gently prodded Nick, who was explaining George's characteristics to the poor stand owner. He vaguely felt Dream let go of his hand and liger next to him.

"Hey," George called from behind them, lowing the hood of Dream's cloak. The reaction was instantaneous, with both Bad and Nick snapping around to greet their missing friend. George nearly fell backward as he was tackled in a hug from both of the boys at the same time. 

Identical shouts of "George!" filled his ears as George hugged them back eagerly, glad they weren't affected by whoever was following them. They pulled away a second later, flinging questions at the prince. 

"Where have you been?" Bad started, disapprovingly narrowing his eyes at him. 

"It was like you were there and then you weren't!" Nick continued, eyes widened. "We had no clue where you had gone!" 

George took a breath at their rapid-fire speaking, attempting to process all the information at once. "It's not my fault!" He began. "I got pulled to the side by—" George stopped as he turned to motion at Dream, only to realize that the tall thief wasn't there anymore. 

"Wait, what?" he mumbled to himself. Dream had been right there, less than a second ago! He had _just seen him._ George could feel Bad and Nick's stares bore into him as he turned in circles, eyes scanning over the street to look for the blond. 

"George?" Bad called cautiously. "Pulled to the side by who?"

George turned back to them, disheartened. He briefly remembered the last time he had discussed Dream with the two knights, causing him to shake his head and wave his hand dismissively. "No one, no one," he consoled. "Sorry, I don't know what I was saying." 

Both his friends gave him a suspicious look that George swallowed nervously at. He wracked his brain for how he could change the subject. 

Oh, wait.

The prince's eyes widened suddenly as he recollected the exact reason that Dream had pulled him out. "We need to get back to the castle." His expression hardened, and Bad and Nick stiffened at the sudden change in attitude. 

"Um, okay?" Nick questioned carefully. "Why, exactly?" 

"There was someone trailing us before." George confessed. Immediately, Nick and Bad carefully drew their weapons to their sides, and George threw his hands up in protest. "Woah, woah! I don't think anymore. That's why I, uh, stepped to the side for a bit." Not because he was kidnapped by a thief.

"You should've told us, not ran away!" Nick scolded uncharacteristically. "What were you thinking?"

Bad continued, quietly, "He's right. If someone tried to hurt you, how would you have defended yourself?"

"I know, I know," George admitted. He paused to glance around nervously. "But we should still get back soon." 

Neither Nick nor Bad sheathed their swords, but they both nodded in agreement. George was almost taken aback by their behavior; he had never actually seen his friends act as knights even though he knew that their time before becoming an actual part of the King's army was drawing short. He knew that they were being trained to protect their kingdom for a reason, but he didn't quite process that the way they acted around him was different than others. It was an odd sight to see. 

Nick nudged his head, and George took that as a sign to start moving. 

As the three of them made their way back towards the castle, much stealthier than they had come down, George's head was swarming with thoughts.

While he knew that the fact he could've died on this outing should've been at the forefront of his mind, he couldn't trick himself into thinking about anything other than Dream. It certainly didn't help that he still was wearing the thief's cloak, a detail he had realized much too late. 

Dream was an enigma that confused him to no end. Only two days before, the guy had been threatening his life for the money out of his pockets, yet today he had protected him from getting hurt. 

George knew that people did things for reasons, but he couldn't figure out Dream's. 

And it bothered him infinitely. 

Thieves were off-limits to princes, dangerous territory that George knew he shouldn't dwell on further. Dream's reasoning shouldn't matter to him. 

However, as the overwhelming scent of pine needles found itself in his nose again, the prince decided that maybe he could think about this for a little longer. 

And maybe, just maybe, he would discover an answer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of chapter 2!  
> Next chapter is going to be an exciting one!
> 
> Hope you liked it!


	3. Cloaks, Confrontations, and Company

George groaned frustratedly, dragging a hand through his combed hair as he shifted quietly in bed. He swore under his breath, continuing to glare at the ceiling in thought. Sunlight from the sunny morning tore past his curtains and lit up the stoney walls of his bedroom brightly, causing the prince's eyes to squint further in thought. George shifted again, turning to lay on his side and stared longingly at his opened window across the room. 

Five days. 

It had been five days since George had been able to leave his room. 

Five annoying, long, and brutally boring days. 

It turned out that being trailed in town earlier that week was a bigger deal than George expected it to be. Along with the rumor of some masked anarchist civilians dubbed "The Blade" roaming nearby, the news of exactly what happened in the village sparked an explosion in the TNT keg that was the King's army.

While he heard from the help that his father was now just escorted from place to place with a greater amount of guards, George was no longer allowed to leave his room. Not for the library, not for his studies, not to eat, nor to visit his friends, nothing. Lessons with his tutor were relocated to his room bound desk, meals were brought up to his room every day, and he hadn't seen Nick or Bad since the day at the town. 

George had at first blamed his two knightly friends for his unfortunate situation when he was more sour and angry about what he was being forced to deal with. They had been the ones to report the occurrence to the military captain, who then alerted George's father about what happened. 

He had calmed down about it now, knowing that Bad and Nick were just doing their jobs and keeping him safe. Seeing them as knights first and friends second was just something he would have to adjust to.

However, knowing why he was basically in lockdown did not make the last five days any more exciting.

They had been filled with the same routine: George woke up towards the afternoon, followed by contemplating how bored he was, then was brought lunch by the help, had his tutoring session, did some reading and rereading the two books he stored in his room (neither of these being _Of Seamstresses and Stones,_ which George regrettably realized was left under his seat in the library), ate dinner, contemplated boredom some more, and went to bed. 

It was dreadful, and George was almost positive he would break soon if he had to follow the schedule any longer. 

He seriously needed to find a way out of there.

His morning pity party was interrupted by a quiet knock against the door of his bedroom. 

George sat up in his bed and cleared his throat quietly, calling, "Come in!" 

The door opened and three members of the help piled in, each of them nodding in greeting to George. George smiled back halfheartedly, looking eagerly at the plate of lunch the one in the front carried. 

"Good afternoon, Prince George!" The brunette boy in the front chirped as a usual hello. He placed the plate of food on George's lap carefully, making sure the contents didn't fall or spill. 

It looked like apples, bread, cheese, and some sort of meat was on the menu—the usual. 

George smiled in thanks. He watched as the help began flitting around his room, placing papers back on their respective shelves and refilling his inkpot.

He brought the cup of squeezed apple juice to his lips and gulped down a sip. 

As he tried to swallow, George froze, the juice instead finding his way down the wrong pipe in his throat. A nasty cough ripped out of his mouth, causing the drink to fly everywhere as George heaved in and out in search of air. 

The help scrambled over to him, one of them patting his back fervently and the other two watching concerned. 

"Oh my goodness!" It was the same boy that had given him the food. He continued patting George's back sporadically. "Are you okay, your majesty?" 

This only seemed to make things worse as George's eyes widened and he choked again at the use of the formality, one a particular thief typically called him. His face turned a darker red as his coughs became harsher. Eventually, they were less and less frequent, slowly coming down to a wheeze. 

George wiped his teary eyes with his bedsheets, sniffing intensely as he calmed. "I'm—I'm okay! I just choked—" 

"You must be coming down with a cold!" The boy hurried. He looked at the other two gentlemen he came with and then at the window. "Which one of you left his majesty's window open last night? He's caught a chill because of the draft!" 

The prince sniffed again, and his expression turned confused. "Wait I..." George trailed off, struck with a thought. 

If he were to become sick, no one would be allowed in his room, as that was the kingdom's custom following the Great Plague many years ago. And, because George would be presumed oh-so-ill, no one would question him sleeping through the entire day. And, if George was thought to be sleeping, with no one to check if he was actually in his room or not, that left time for George to take an innocent, small outing today with no one to catch him. 

"Yes!" George shot up, alert, surprising the help as they jumped back at the shout. "Oh I feel terrible, just terrible! I must have some sort of head cold, and I would hate for any of you to catch it!" 

"But, Prince George, we can't simply not tend to you at a time like this..." The boy argued. 

"I cannot simply sit here knowing that any of you could become ill." George spoke. "Go, I will just sleep away the day." 

"But Prince—" 

"No need to check on me, I'll be okay!" George motioned towards the door. "I do not want you all getting sick! Now go!" 

The boy in the front looked back at his unsure companions. 

"That's an order!" George hurried. 

The help scurried quickly, although reluctantly out of his room. George smiled cunningly as the door made a click back in its hinge. 

He paused for a moment, making sure they were really gone before pushing the food tray to the side and jumping up. George laughed, suddenly full of energy as he dashed over to his open window to check out the weather. 

Another bright day; he was certainly getting lucky. 

"Oh let's go, let's go, let's go!" He whispered excitedly, going back to his bed. 

George sat back down and scarfed down his food at lightning speed, careful not to choke this time. He placed it on the ground next to his bed once he was done and paused as he caught sight of the trunk that was also stashed there. 

He knelt down lower and grabbed the handle at the side of the trunk, dragging it out of the cover of the bed. George contemplated opening it before nodding surely, unhinging the front and uncovering the lid. 

The green cloak inside was neatly folded, barely wrinkled yet worn with what George guessed was months, if not years of wearing. He had sat and thought about the cloak and its owner longer than he wished to admit during his five days of separation, often staring at said cloak in uncertainty for long periods of time. 

He wished that he had somehow discovered more about Dream and his intentions during those hours of thinking, to no real avail. Although, George had deduced that Dream was undoubtedly a skilled thief, one that had most likely been in the business for quite a while, if his cloak's weathering had any say.

As George dropped a hand down to play with the soft fabric, he wondered just how one becomes a thief, what happens in your life to lead you down such a path. Who knows where Dream came from. George figured that maybe he should uncover why he was so interested in the entire topic before wondering about anything else. 

The thought of freedom did seem interesting, leading a life without the responsibilities of controlling a kingdom and becoming the next King. George sighed almost wistfully; what he wouldn't give to be able to go on an adventure like Mercia in _Of Seamstresses and Stones,_ battling foes and doing something other than sitting around all day, lazily following a future that was set for him since birth. 

George was again brought out of his daydreaming by another knock on his door, this time a firm and loud one. 

George jumped, hurriedly snapping shut the chest and shoving it under his bed hastily. He dashed into his bed, throwing the heavy blankets over his body and collapsing into the pillows, shutting his eyes in the process to fake sleep. 

Just as he has settled in, George heard the door click open. He attempted to steady his rapid breathing, slowly peeking an eye open to see who the intruder was. 

_Shit._

George held back a noticeable grimace at the sight of his father in the room. The King looked around the bedroom with a suspicious glare, then turned to his son to give him the same look. George's eyes snapped shut and he held his breath in suspension. 

"Son?" The King called gruffly and George stiffened. He lied completely still. 

His father grumbled a few words that the prince didn't pick up. He paused for another moment before retreating out of the doorway, bringing the door back into the frame. 

George, who felt as if one hundred tons had just been lifted off his chest, sprung from his bed, overheating within the thick blankets of wool and tension. He breathed heavily, part from holding his breath and part from almost being caught by his father, of all people. That was way too close. 

He sighed heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. George knelt down back to get the truck, now even more determined to get out of the castle for a day. He opened the chest again, tugging the cloak out from the confines and unfolding it carefully in his arms. 

George placed it on his bed, nudging the trunk closed and under his bed with his foot. He next went over to his wardrobe in search of the least rich looking clothes he owned. If there was one thing he learned from Dream, clothes made an extremely important impression on people. He fished out a pair of black dress pants and blue long-sleeved tunic that seemed suitable for the occasion. He quickly tugged on some old traveling boots and wrapped Dream's cloak around him. 

The damn thing still smelt of smoke and the forest, much to George's dismay. He didn't need this distraction right now. 

George ignored it, dashing over to his window and looked up at the Sun's position to tell the time. It seemed to be around midday, the Sun just about past the middle of the sky. George grinned at the perfect timing: the help and the King's guard would be on their shifting break about now. 

George made his way over to his door, standing in front of it for a moment. After a second's consideration, he went back and grabbed a small dagger that was kept in the draw of his bedside table. The prince couldn't help but huff a laugh and tuck the weapon into the side of his boot, knowing that he barely knew how to use the thing anyway. 

Now back at his door, George didn't hesitate in opening it, checking to make sure the hallway was clear before briskly walking down the labyrinth of hallways the castle housed.

As much as he wanted to escape the building as fast as possible, George couldn't help but stop at the empty library first. He practically ran over to his nook and snatched _Of Seamstress and Stones_ from under his seat, exactly where he had left it, to the prince's relief. 

George stuck to the corridors he knew were less frequently traveled. Growing up in this castle meant that he practically knew the place like the back of his hand, and George was happy to see it finally work to his advantage. He snuck down a connecting passage near the kitchens and spied the door that he had used to sneak back into the castle after talking with Bad and Nick in the garden. 

The kitchens were continually bustling with all sorts of people, the chefs making food, help running in and out to deliver said food, guards eagerly attempting to swipe a bite to eat, even nobles would occasionally stop by. George's heart pounded and he flipped the hood of Dream's cloak up to hide his face more. He didn't even want to imagine what would happen if one of these people recognized him. 

George slowly turned the corner and did a walk-run as quickly as possible without being too suspicious.

He was almost there when two of the help rounded the corner in front of him. George stuttered in his step, avoiding eye contact with the two of them. They got nearer and nearer and George held his breath as parts of their conversation briefed him.

"I heard that the Blade never leaves anyone alive after he's got his sights set on them," one of the help, a young girl chimed to her companion. 

"Well I heard that he's actually some sort of pig human hybrid. Like a vicious pigman," the other, also a little girl, gossiped back. 

George's face scrunched in confusion as the girls continued their walk down the hallway, not even sparing the cloaked prince a glance. _A pigman?_

He shook his head of the talk, relieved to at least have gotten past them without being spotted. George heaved his weight against the heavy door and almost jumped for joy when it opened. 

A warm breeze brushed past his face, the Sun, now further down in the sky, shining brightly still. George gazed at the courtyard again for what felt like the first time in forever, spotting several nicely dressed nobles wandering around on the pleasant day. The prince kept his hood up as he tracked further, past the lavish garden and the training field and the dueling ground, right to the forest. 

Standing on the outskirts of it, George stopped for a moment to reminisce on what happened the last time he was in there. Dream, the money, the threat. 

One part of him told himself to turn back and find another spot to hide in and spend the day. However, as another gust of wind blew past him, carrying a scent of wood and pine, George heaved a heavy sigh. With one hand holding his book and the other perched at his side, and he marched confidently into the forest. 

Like all the times he had been there previously, George didn't even have to think about his path as his feet carried him to the familiar plot of land, next to the stream and moss and large oak tree. 

He observed the area like always before sitting down against the base of the tree, the moss soft and comfortable underneath him. George sighed happily, shutting his eyes in momentary bliss at finally not being shut in after so many days. 

George picked up _Of Seamstresses and Stones_ and opened it to his last marked page. 

He smiled fondly at the book; the story was becoming quite the comfort to him and he couldn't remember a time when reading had made him so happy, excluding the times his mother used to read to him, of course. 

_"Fine. I'll join you." Her open hand reached out, grasping the wizard's outstretched palm with a satisfying shake, sealing her fate._

_However, Mercia noted that whether her enclosed fortune led her to fame or failure remained uncertain, even to her magic-wielding companion...._

George allowed himself to get lost in the journey of Mercia for quite a while, reading curiously through her story as the young woman and wizard, joined by many others, carried the jade stone all across their fabled earth. 

George wasn't sure how long he was reading before the insistent croaking of a frog in the pond next to him annoyed the poor prince so much that he put his book next to him to address the situation. 

He pulled himself into a squat, wincing slightly when the dagger in his boot pressed into his leg. George carefully extracted it and placed it safely next to him by the tree. He pivoted on his heel and stared down the yelling toad, insistingly perched on a stone near the rushing water. 

Somewhat jokingly, the prince narrowed his eyes at the frog. 

"Do you mind?" He muttered aloud to the creature, only getting the response of another croak. 

George huffed, observing the animal with a tilted head. It boasted an intricate pattern of browns, greens, and grays that proved to be mesmerizing. George let his glare fall and smiled softly at the frog. 

"While you are quite pretty, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." He announced with a laugh.

"Well that's not very nice, I've only just got here." 

George whipped around in surprise, losing his balance and yelping as his hands fell into the cold water behind him. George barely noticed his frog friend hopping away at the action, busy frantically searching for who had spoken.

_Who was he kidding, he already knew who it was._

Dream, smile mask and all, watched him from a few feet away, clearly amused, as George jumped away from the river, nursing his drenched arms in front of him with a gasp.

George stared at the thief in shock, his hand dashing to where he had left the dagger he brought with him, only to grab air. 

"Oh," Dream started with recognition and held up the small weapon. "You're probably looking for this. Sorry, your majesty, precautions are precautions." 

George gaped at his predicament for a moment; wet arms clutched to his chest. After a second, he shut his eyes and groaned frustratingly, attempting not to care about the loud laugh that left the thief at this. He watched as Dream innocently tucked the dagger into his black boot. 

Dream took George's stunned silence as an invitation to keep talking, crossing his arms energetically, "I apologize for always sneaking up on you, your majesty, we really have got to stop meeting like this."

George couldn't help but unconsciously agree. It seemed that he couldn't hear from the thief without something scaring him first. The prince furiously wiped his hands off on his cloak and stood up defensibly, mirroring Dream's crossed arms with some regret, as his soaked sleeves now pressed into his shirt. 

However, it paid off, as George observed Dream stiffen in front of him with some sort of satisfaction. 

George narrowed his eyes, "I thought we had a deal."

"A deal?" George huffed at the sound of Dream's challenging tone. 

"You weren't supposed to come back here, remember?" 

"Yes, well," Dream took a large step closer to him, and George had to stop himself from stepping back into the stream. "You see, I've only come to take back what's mine." 

George's expression turned flushed, protective arms dropping at the suggestive sentence. _"What?"_

Dream seemed to pause, taking in the gravity of his words for a moment. His confused demeanor turned shocked, instantly throwing his hands up with a, "Oh my god, no no no!" 

Dream hurried, "That is not what I meant, _oh my god."_ He brought an embarrassed hand up to his face. "My—my cloak. The day at the market; I didn't get my cloak back." 

Oh.

_Oh._

George stared at the panicked thief before surprising even himself and letting out a rather loud laugh. He threw his head back in laughter at the horrible misunderstanding, shaking in place at each burst of hysterics. He barely registered Dream joining in with his tea kettle sounding chortle, the both of them dissolving into giggles. 

"I—sorry." The brunet got out as he attempted to calm down. "The way that you worded that was horrible." 

Dream nodded, dragging a hand loosely through his hair, "My fault, ha, my fault." 

George, relatively weak from his fit of laughter, carefully untied the strap at the front of the cloak, shrugging it off himself and holding it out to Dream. The thief, who was still recovering from his chuckles, softly took it from George's hands. George couldn't help but stare as Dream effortlessly drew on the garment, securing it at the front of his throat. 

"See something you like?" Dream questioned tauntingly as he adjusted the sides of the cloak on himself. 

George's lighthearted expression dropped at the teasing, red deepening on his face. "And, you're back to being annoying," he huffed. 

"You didn't answer the question, your majesty."

"The only thing I see is your stupid self." 

Dream had the decency to try and act offended, "Hey!" he crossed his arms. "You know, what I think you're trying to say is 'thank you?'"

George narrowed his eyes curiously at him. "And what exactly do I have to thank you for?" 

"Oh, I don't know," the blond pretended to be in thought, "Maybe when I saved your life in town the other day. That seems pretty thankful worthy to me." 

George bit on his lip irritably. Dream had a point, and that bothered him. 

"Oh, whatever." George replied, ignoring the thief's huff of laughter at knowing that he had won.

Ignoring him for a moment, George bent down and picked up his book, dusting off the dirt that had accumulated on it. He squinted at the pages and then at the sky, noticing only then how much time he had been in the forest. The Sun had not set yet; after all, days were longer in the summer; however, it was surely late afternoon. Suddenly concerned, George turned back to Dream. 

"Do you know what time it is?"

Dream's head tilted in confusion. He looked up at the sky like George had. "Umm, probably around five or six o'clock? Why exactly?" 

George froze. "Oh fuck."

Dream laughed lightly, "Woah there—"

"SHIT!" George ran a hand through his hair, the reality of his situation dawning on him. "Fuck, shit, fucking hell, oh my gosh." 

George saw Dream stiffen in hesitation at his actions, clearly unsure of what was happening. George groaned loudly. 

He explained, "The castle entrees are blocked at five."

Dream's head tilted again. "Can't you just, like, knock? Aren't you the prince?" He stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I mean, if you aren't in the castle, people will be sent out to look for you." 

"That's the thing," the prince shook his head panically. "no one even knows I'm gone! I—I pretended to be sick and I snuck out! Oh my god, _I snuck out."_ George threw his head in his hands, tugging at his hair angrily. 

"Wow," Dream, obnoxiously, looked quite surprised. "Snuck out, huh? I'm impressed." 

George lifted his head and glared at the thief, who threw his hands up in defense. 

"Not the time," Dream decided as George grit his teeth. 

He paced back and forth over the mossy ground, too stressed to feel embarrassed that this was all happening in front of Dream. 

The day had been going so well! He had finally escaped his stupid room and into the fresh air, only to now be stranded in the very place he wanted nothing more to get to. And the only person that knew he was out there was _Dream,_ the thief that had made his life more and more troublesome. 

_(Or, more_ _interesting.)_

George released a long, depressing sigh and flopped down against the tree, closing his eyes tiredly. He set his book next to him, folding his hands on his legs hopelessly. He tried to ignore the feeling of Dream looking at him from a few feet away.

"Okay," George's eyes snapped open at Dream's voice. "What are you doing?" 

The prince, who had begun to lean against the tree, straightened up against the trunk with a confused look. "Well, I have to sleep somewhere tonight. This um," he flushed slightly, "this seemed like the only spot." 

A silence settled between them, and George watched as Dream seemed to ponder something hesitantly. The thief seemed to contemplate saying something for a while as George observed him. 

Finally, Dream let out a sigh. 

"I..." He started, sounding quite reluctant to speak. "I know a place where you can stay." 

His words caused an instant suspicion in George's mind, the prince stiffening in place as he narrowed his eyes at Dream.

He was offering him a place to stay? _Dream_ was offering him a place to spend the night. George questioned why this sounded so odd, but he considered that he never thought about where Dream lived; after all, the thief had to go somewhere after tormenting the young royal.

However, this unprompted branch of kindness seemed out of place, and George didn't trust it. 

George watched as Dream shifted under his skeptical eye, and George's eyebrows furrowed. The blond looked nervous, skittish even, a sharp contrast to the thief's usual sociable persona. He was moving weight from one foot to the other, playing silently with the edge of his cloak. 

George gulped a large breath and asked carefully, "How do I know that this isn't a...a trick?" 

Dream huffed a small laugh, "If I wanted something from you, I would've taken it already." 

A little taken aback, George scoffed quietly. Well, that wasn't reassuring. 

Sensing his further unease, Dream cursed softly. "Oh, come on." He sighed under his breath. "Just—I know we aren't on the best terms or anything, but—but just trust me. I'm trying to be some help." 

The thief didn't look cocky or sly like he was about to set George up. He didn't seem to be overly persuasive or like he was planning something either. In fact, George realized that this was the most personable he had seen Dream. 

Speaking of the blond, he dragged a hand through his hair and quickly prompted, "So?"

While going with Dream meant that he could be willingly walking into another one of the thief's schemes, George was still unsure. 

George frowned, looking down out his lap. He dragged his eyes across the mossy, dirt ground around him. Even though the moss itself was soft, the patch was only so big for him to sit down in, and George knew that if he stayed, a bed of dirt and bugs is what awaited him. George cringed to himself, knowing that he only had two options. 

A bugging feeling in his gut was telling him that the answer was simpler than he was making it out to be. 

So, like the last time he had visited this forest, George took another chance. 

Wordlessly, he grabbed his book and pulled himself off of the ground. He carefully ran his hand on the back of his pants to rid them of the dirt from the forest floor, looking down at his boots awkwardly.

The two boys were both silent, and George found himself wishing that Dream would just make some snarky remark or acknowledge what he was doing or _anything._ George balled up his pride and gathered enough courage to look over at Dream, who stared at him with a head tilted in curiosity. 

He swallowed harshly, shifting between his feet. "So?" 

Dream answered by crossing his arms, and George realized that the thief was really going to make him say it. 

"Where are we going?" George huffed frustratingly.

He scowled as Dream laughed obnoxiously and ran a hand through his hair. 

"Come on, this way." Dream said. 

The thief turned on his heel and motioned George in a direction that led deeper into the forest.

For a second, the prince hesitated. Was this the better option?

George glanced back at the tree next to the stream and the dirt-covered landscape. He shook his head. This was the only option. 

So, with a sigh, George looked back towards the thief that had threatened his life, the person that had protected him from harm, the guy that wore a strange mask and spoke terribly out of term, the one who constantly annoyed him, Dream, and began following behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo, chapter three!! 
> 
> This is the longest one so far, but only by a few hundred words. It took me a while but was overall pretty fun to write!  
> I'm super excited for next chapter, going to be introducing some familiar faces :)


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